


restituere

by DeHeerKonijn



Series: Velle [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Communication, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Kink Negotiation, M/M, explicit images, sex positivity, text and images
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25055089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeHeerKonijn/pseuds/DeHeerKonijn
Summary: “I — I do not like how that feels,” Legolas says.“Oh,” Gimli replies, “Sorry— I thought — you loved this, did you not? Back in Ithilien?”Legolas blows a sigh that puffs out his cheeks, squares his shoulders. His eyebrows are still knit together worriedly.“I do, — I did. Perhaps... try again? Please?”–––Legolas visits Aglarond for the first time– and together he and Gimli discover that there is yet more to learn about being wed.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Series: Velle [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814452
Comments: 38
Kudos: 445





	restituere

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise! Bet you'd thought you'd seen the last of us - there's still a little more fun to be had in the Velleverse. :)
> 
> I tried my hand at writing this one, because we had a fun idea and I just couldn't resist.
> 
> Roselightfairy, thank you for the beta, the collaboration, and the fun times!!

Legolas’ soft panting is all Gimli hears as he dips his head. His tongue is broad, warm and wet, with a kiss of cool metal in the center — he runs it up the length of Legolas’ erection. A happy groan uncurls from the elf like a sun-warmed cat, rubs up against a sigh, content to be caught within the stone walls of their space. 

Aglarond in the present is a whispered rumor of the great dwarf settlement it will someday be — yet already grand in its own way. Even this room, roughly hewn and built only for function, is modestly handsome. 

Gimli can hardly believe that mere months ago, he and his collective slept on damp floors among their crates of supplies. Or that it has been a year since the shimmering vault of the cavern mirrored the twinkle of excitement they all felt -- kindled it into a flame and then an explosion of inspired energy. Now their careful tending of stone pays off, and the infant Aglarond has the sapling-growth of twisting tunnels, communal spaces, all the crucial infrastructure leveled out, and finally— it is starting to _look_ like something. 

Those first days saw a team of dwarves, united in their common goal, happy to share and share alike -- but by now, as the settlement grows, everyone has taken their specialties and dispersed into their own spaces. This suits Gimli just fine. 

In the future, Gimli’s room will be repurposed for some other use. He has plans, grand plans, for the eventual quarters of the Lord of the Glittering Caves and his consort... 

But for now, he has all that he needs. 

He has changes of clothes, a carefully selected collection of sentimental belongings. He has a low cot, strewn with furs and woven blankets to keep out the chill of the raw earth. He has a modest desk at which he works on his blueprints and plans.

And he has his beloved husband, newly-arrived from Ithilien that afternoon, whose face is hidden in the crook of an arm. The elf swallows dryly with the effort of puffing breath after breath at Gimli’s attention to his body. Gimli tightens his lips around him and pulls up, chuckling as Legolas whines in pleasure.

“ _Meleth_ ,” Legolas is babbling, “ _Meleth, melethron._ ” 

Gimli is not yet a lord, but feels like a king to belong to him. 

Tucked away like this, in their nest of blankets and furs, here - in the low light of this room - for a moment Gimli is transported back to Ithilien. He remembers their little hand-made shelter, how it was a dreamlike place beneath boughs of green, where Legolas rode out the course of his heated frenzy. In the end, the heat remained— clearly that same promising gaze made the journey across the plains of Rohan with him-- but the urgency that once strained their joining has eased. Their lovemaking is now a fluid, unhurried lovemaking that Gimli sees stretching out long ahead of them — in Ithilien, in Aglarond — for the rest of his life, growing together as their fledgling lands grow. 

Now they know one another, wholly, completely, and with that understanding Gimli feels as if there is nothing left for him to learn. 

Gimli ceases his torment of Legolas’ cockhead for now, gives it a cheeky kiss goodbye – and Legolas huffs. He moves deliberately south, hungry lips traveling down, down past the base – and Legolas purrs. He laps for a moment at the root, and Legolas moans. Then, as Gimli continues his journey back and behind, taking one of the elf’s stones into his mouth, and sucks — 

Legolas falls silent. 

Gimli keeps working, kneading Legolas’ thighs as they bracket his head, and he can hear Legolas exhale a few breaths — but they are somehow different. His aroused panting tapers off as Gimli sucks and licks him with wet, slick sounds, and Legolas tries a few more times to regain the rhythm. There is hesitation suddenly, as if each forced gust of breath is an elusive answer on the tip of the tongue. 

“Gimli,” Legolas says finally, “Gimli, stop — _stop_ , please,”

Gimli pulls off with a pop and looks up, only to meet Legolas’ furrowed brow, an expression of confusion that Gimli knows his own face mirrors. 

“What is it, love?” Gimli asks. He keeps kneading the strong thighs, and notices they have become tense. 

Legolas’ throat works for a moment, as if he is not sure himself what the matter is. The attractive flush high on his cheeks is deeper now, something different from the heat of arousal. 

“I — I do not like how that feels,” Legolas says. 

“Oh,” Gimli replies, “Sorry— I thought — you loved this, did you not? Back in Ithilien?”

Legolas blows a sigh that puffs out his cheeks, squares his shoulders. His eyebrows are still knit together worriedly. 

“I do, — I _did_. Perhaps... try again? Please?”

So Gimli dutifully picks up again from the top, sucking the tip of Legolas’ cock once again into his mouth. He curls his tongue around the head, pushes down, all the way down until he can feel the warmth of Legolas pressing at the back of his throat. Legolas immediately returns to his happy moaning, the tension that was present in his thighs now forgotten. 

Gimli allows the elf a few slow, languid rolls of his hips up into the warm, wet heat of his mouth, and the delicious sounds of encouragement are a bolt of lightning that shoots straight to Gimli’s own pulsing cock. 

“Ah… yes… Gimli, yes…” Legolas winds his fingers into the thick curls at the base of Gimli’s skull. “ _Meleth_ , mm…”

As Legolas carefully pushes himself into and out of Gimli’s mouth, the dwarf ghosts a hand back down between his legs. The helpless laugh that comes from Legolas when Gimli rubs a small circle against his entrance might be unexpected to some, but Gimli’s answering chuckle vibrates around Legolas’ length. He remembers their wedding night fondly, and knows Legolas does too — though neither had any way of realizing what lay ahead of them at the time. 

Reveling in the thrill of making love to his husband, of making his husband’s body sing, Gimli brings his free hand up to squeeze Legolas’ cock at the base, and removes his mouth to let it join his mind in wandering. 

The first time Gimli pleasured Legolas in this way was the morning they departed the White City— and Legolas was beautiful. New and needy, he lay back on the fat pillows of what had been Gimli’s bed in Minas Tirith. Legolas looked so sweet there; rattled from the start— as if the mere sight of Gimli kneeling between his legs would undo him then and there. 

Gimli’s grasp on Legolas’ cock is firm, and in the slickness left by his tongue, he begins pumping his fist up and down, slowly. 

In Minas Tirith he had guided Legolas’ hands gently to his head, where they stayed, grasping and twining just as they do in this moment. 

Gimli once again kisses his way back between Legolas’ thighs, tongues at the sack. Legolas’ hips stutter, and experimentally Gimli takes one of his stones into his mouth again to suckle with the barest hint of pressure. The first time he did this in Minas Tirith, Legolas had gasped and his fingers had dug into his scalp —

“ _Stop_ , stop, — sorry, stop,” 

But now his fingers push Gimli’s head away. 

This time when Gimli rises up onto his elbows, Legolas does not only look confused, he looks _astonished_. 

“No...I hate that,” Legolas says, this time sure of it. 

Gimli blinks at him, unsure of how to respond, so he raises his eyebrows into some non-committal expression while Legolas’ face works its way through a journey of its own. Gimli feels a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“It feels like the amorous attentions of some sort of pond creature,” Legolas does not grimace, but his lips twist into the distaste of a young dwarf confronted with a plate of radish.

Now Gimli cannot help laughing. He smacks a loud kiss onto the inside of Legolas’ thigh playfully. “Duly noted! No more reverence of the Jewels of Lasgalen. You elves are quite the mystery, you know that?”

But Legolas is scarlet, clearly uncomfortable at this new discovery. He looks almost exactly like…

“I am --sorry, Gimli,” Legolas stammers.

“Now hold on a minute,” Gimli says, and he forces himself to be firm despite the ashamed pinch of Legolas’ shoulders that makes the dwarf ache to hold him close. “What is there to be sorry about?”

Legolas sighs. He has learned by now to at least be open, despite his insecurities, and so rather than hesitation, he bites his lip in a pause of choosing his words carefully.

“I think…” Legolas begins, searching for meaning. “In Ithilien, I was starved for your touch. I wanted it all so badly, to have you any way I could -- that all of it felt so wonderful– all of it.”

Gimli feels his body heat spike at the memory, at all of the mixed emotions of the time. It is both odd and comforting to Gimli that they can have such a conversation in a likewise vulnerable state — squeezed together on their little cot; Legolas splayed on his back, Gimli between his too-long legs, puffing warm breath scant inches from his sex.

“But now,” Legolas says, frowning at the ceiling, “Now that my head is clear, and my tastes are - different, evidently - I cannot help some concern. What else is different? What if I no longer find pleasure in the things you most crave?”

Gimli runs a feather-light finger up and down the length still proud and tall in front of him, arches his back at the sound of Legolas’ breath hitching.

“I suppose we will have to relearn each other as if for the first time,” Gimli says. 

And when Legolas’ skeptical worry eases, Gimli shows him how much of a mutual pleasure it will be. 


End file.
